


Transition Foundations

by OneLittleWriter (Franglish_Humanoid)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, equine themed, yes they will ride horses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 10:09:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4217610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Franglish_Humanoid/pseuds/OneLittleWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark is the newest rider to be accepted into a brand new league for eventing riders, the Indoor Derby championships. But what will this transitioning show jumper make of suddenly being thrust into the world of eventing, with the quirky seeming riders around and the even more colourful personalities of their horses?</p>
<p>-AU of the Avengers & Co if they were horse riders, because I can. No equestrian knowledge needed to read. Tags, characters, warnings and pairings will be updated as we go along.-</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transition Foundations

**Author's Note:**

> So... Horsie terminology...   
> Horses tend to have two separate names, one official one and another for everyday use. Often these will overlap for the ease of remembering on a large stables which horse is which. For example, Iron is of course Iron Man but You doesn't have much to do with his show name.   
> At this level, riders have a massive commitment to their rides, to the extent of basically living on the road for months on end in order to be closer to competitions. Tony's lorry has a miniature caravan-esque part in between the cab and where the horses are put, this is how the very best lorries are. For some of the others? You will just have to wait and see.  
> As a general rule, the horses will be thoroughbreds, anglo-arabs or various types of warmblood. I'll link up pictures of the breeds I see them being on Tumblr next chapter. (And yes, I'm afraid they will have more or less the superhero names of each character as a show name, giving me a base to work from.)  
> Horses I mention that are not expressly written in are likely to be real world horses I am linking the ones in here with to give them genealogy as bloodlines are massively important to jumpers, and as you will see, in terms of how they judge each other too.

There were only a few written rules in the top league. Play fair, ride clean and jump like every fence is worth a million dollars. These rules were easy enough to comply with for all the riders to be satisfied and so, people were happy.

Then of course there were the far more complex unwritten rules… No matter that there were only three of these unwritten rules, they were still hard to learn and quick to be enforced.

Number one: Don’t sleep with anyone.

Number two: Don’t take anyone else’s ride.

Number three: Never pull up before you know it’s all over.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Nothing sounds or smells quite like an indoor derby. The sweet smell of horse sweat mixing with the cloying scent of new leatherwork and freshly fried waffles. When combined with the assault of a crowd screaming wildly and heavy rock anthems, each trying to outdo one another, it was almost overwhelming. It was more akin to an open air music concert than a serious and sensible competition involving delicate minded animals who strongly disliked loud noises.

Commando’s large, bay ears pricked forwards as he heard the barely muffled roar of the eager crowd in the arena ahead of them. Steve leaned forwards slightly in the saddle, allowing  his reins to slip one notch looser, he allowed himself a small smile at the earnest surge from the sports horse beneath him provoked by his infinitesimal change in position. This was what true understanding felt like. He sat up, lifting his face into the wash of noise and bright lights as measured steps took them into the arena. God, it was deafening. How much further could one remove a shy animal such as a horse from its natural environment? Yet here they were, his own Howling Commando, a coarse bay gelding with no defining features what so ever apart from his wish to please and a skinny kid from the outskirts of New York, surrounded by a crowd of five thousand enthusiastic people, baying for some action. Carefully he brought his mount to a stand still just in front of the starting box, waiting…

_Three…_

He gathered up his reins, trying to quell the manic and uncomfortable sensation of inactivity as the seconds stretched out in front of him.

_Two…_

Commando quivered under him, every fibre of his being intent on performing the ideal launch. Steve took a deep breath, a burning breath that lodged in his lungs as he caught the hand of the official timer standing close by his side.

_One…_

Go was never the signal, one was when you started the action off and so he did. He thrust his arms forwards, feeling the heavy set horse rise up under him, dug his spurs in as hard as he could and…

_GO!_

From slow motion, the world tilted, shuddered and caught up with them. Commando’s hooves caught into the sand beneath them and he lurched forwards, pulling with every ounce of power he had. His heart drummed in his ears, falling into a frenetic rhythm with the pounding of the horses hooves. He passed the first four jumps with barely a notice beyond letting his eyes flicker to the next each time. A short, sharp check brought him back to leading the round and dark legs tucked up neatly over the delicate rail of one of the most complicated jumps in the arena. Highway to Hell burst into his ears, masking a scream of adoration from the crowd. 

Comm’ was not fazed one bit, pricked ears not even flickering back as he cornered sharply, pulling him around with his bodyweight and one flung open arm. He sat back, hanging on and letting the nimble horse hop up, take that one stride and then down again over the raised jump. Once again, the crowd yelled out their appreciation loudly. Another long gallop followed, the noise of the people fading into a droning in his ears to the unmistakable sound of a horses laboured breathing, nasal snorts as he sped towards the next element, hurdled it and on and on. The line he followed led him back the raised element again and he allowed himself a moments relaxation. Hot damn, this was incredible fun.   
The moment he allowed the thought to invade his mind, there was a terrible, sickening thud. The encouraging noises of the audience turned to those of fear, the jump, ground, flailing hooves, wooden jump and oh, sand, rushed to meet his face. He felt the damp surface hit his cheeks, smelt that vaguely musty scent that could be nothing other than an arena surface and the whole world erupted into darkness and terrified cries.

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

 

“What the hell are you exactly trying to do there!” The call was mocking, annoyed by her seemingly hapless pupil’s attempt to collect the horse he was sat on. “Heels, knees, elbows, eyes! It’s not hard now, is it?”

The man stood beside the fence snorted loudly, rolling his eyes at the instructor’s harassing of her student. The cherry bay mare that was the centre of attention seemed bored beyond belief at her rider bumping around uselessly. “Good Lola.” Clint muttered softly from the side, leaning against the tall wooden fence that surrounded the arena. Natasha turned and nodded to him sharply. “Good choice. She’s got the patience of a saint.” He nodded slowly to her, a smile breaking out as his eyes tracked his partner, cantering along around the walk-out arena on the horse. She was a simple looking mare, with chunky knees and a mild expression that never faltered, no matter how badly she was thrown at a jump.

Across the yard, a lorry slowly pulled in, driver cursing so loudly he could be heard by all around as kicks like gunshots rattled through the chassis of his vehicle from the young horses inside. As Phil stopped his Selle Francais mare, he followed the other two in tracking the brightly coloured lorry into the tight spot in between the gunmetal grey lorry of Natasha and Clint’s deep purple one. 

A skinny, short man, the driver, hopped out and cursed the rattling of the lorry once again. “You! Cut it out!”

A colt’s angry shriek replied to him and another kick shook the lorry, from a much stronger horse and then all went quiet. “Good Iron… Shut them up for me.” He muttered as he set about connecting the vehicle up to power. Clint Barton, the younger of the two men, glanced across in time to see another gawker to the spectacle of the newcomers arrival. Steve Rogers, surly as he could be, was glaring at the strangers lorry.  

“Well… This is about to get interesting.” His partner, Phil, murmured from on top of his horse. “Steve Rogers meets the infamous Tony Stark.”  


 

* * *

 

“Ok, so don’t touch anything in the communal kitchens that’s not yours and we’ll probably be golden.”

Tony blinked in confusion at his whirlwind of an apparent guide around the showgrounds. Truly, he would have paid more attention if he hadn’t just spent the past ten hour shift listening to his three young horses kick seven bells out of his lorry. God knows what poor Jarvis and Iron thought of the three young upstarts… So far, he didn’t even know if he had the right spot, just the right venue. Ten hours might be the allowed driving time for their horses but no way was it long enough for old pros or short enough to get a respite from freaking greenies.

At this point he registered that his self appointed guide was staring at him as if he had grown an extra head. “Sorry…” He put on his best press smile and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “It’s been a long trip. You know how it is, Butterfingers wouldn’t stop pawing, Dummy is a caller and Jarvis has a pathological hatr-”

“-What?” The blond man blinked at him, constantly moving fingers in the process of unwrapping a filthy purple plaster off his thumb. “I mean, I’m gonna _presume_ those are your horses… But, dude, you zoned out for like a minute there. I sure hope your string leader’s tolerant as hell or you’re _fucked_ ten ways from Sunday when we’re all in the warm up arena.” 

He took a moment longer to just stare back at the man, who he had decided was certifiably crazy. “Maybe… Right… Introductions.” He held out his hand to him, putting on that easy grin that had earned him plenty of magazine coverage in his youth as a show-jumper. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Tony Stark. Like Stark Stables.”

The hyperactive blond grabbed his hand into a firm, calloused grip. “Clint Barton.  Of Shield Stud.” 

Tony glanced back at his lorry again. “Mind if I get my hooligans off now? I think my main horses are sick of being dumped in with the five year olds.”

Clint wrinkled his nose at him. “By all means. But seriously man, who brings three youngsters on tour with them?”

“Wife left me. Nearly. She is leaving me.” He shrugged, eyes going hard and distant. “I worry if I leave my Master Imp colts at home, they’ll get sold off in the split.”

Clint, all credit to him, didn’t blink at the idea of having to take unnecessary baggage, in his case three annoying young horses, on this sort of trip.

“See…” He started after grinning at Tony in silence for a moment. “I just bring my guy with me. He can’t sell my horses that way.”

And Tony had to stop himself from choking on air in surprise at hearing that one.

Clint’s guy, a friendly seeming older man holding onto a chunky bay mare he introduced as Lola, was waiting by the line of lorries for the to return. “Phil Coulson.” He introduced himself immediately. “Not a rider but I follow the tour with Clint.”

“So you’re like… His groom or something?”

Clint barked with laughter, shaking his head quickly as Phil flushed red. “More like a manager-slash-babysitter. He’s responsible for all of my paperwork.”

“I’m an accountant.”

Clint slipped an arm around his waist and the other leaned into the touch happily. “He came to do the books one day and never went home.”

Coulson hummed in the back of his throat. “Not quite… I think I went home a _couple_ of times.”

The two of them burst into raucous laughter at this, leaning one another in a casual way. “So… The kids” Tony tried to veery back on topic. Coulson nodded. “Don’t worry, we’ll give you a hand with them. The boxes are just behind a wall to the trade stands.”

The three walked back to Tony’s lorry, which was ominously quiet for once. The back down, they set about dragging off the horses.

First came dear old Jarvis, stepping down lightly with just a snort at being led by Phil.

The old horse rolled his eyes with a snort of distain as next came YOU, jogging and nervy at being away from home for the first time in his short life. Dummy brought up the rear, calmer than his brother as he let Tony lead him off behind the other two. The temporary stables which had been allocated for the veritable herd Tony had brought with him were thankfully close to the exterior entrance, making it easy enough to shepherd even the youngsters in without them risking being snapped at by the moody chestnut mare facing the exit. She had snapped her teeth at them coming in, weaving from side to side as she showed her claim on the four foot of space in front of her box. “Oh Widow…” Clint had murmured after putting YOU into one box, rubbing the angry mares nose with his thumb. “They’re not going to invade your personal exclusion zone, are they now?”

Returning to the lorry, Clint was up the ramp next, deftly sliding out the partition to remove Tony’s best horse, Iron.

The dark bay stallion pricked his ears and walked down the ramp smugly, eyeballing a larger chestnut as it went past on its way to the arena with its tall, blond haired rider. Tony patted his back gently, smiling as Iron gave him an intrigued look for the atmosphere of the place they were in. He then headed back into the lorry to collect the final horse, Butterfingers, as Clint held the only actual current show horse of the whole group. 

Of course, Butterfingers had no interest in coming down easily. His wall eyes rolled in fear and he sat back down on his haunches, refusing to budge so much as one bay and white leg towards the exit. Clint frowned from outside. “Problems?”

Tony gritted his teeth, staring the young horse down. “No… There really shouldn’t be. He’s the most used to travelling of the babies.” 

As he said this, Butterfingers made a decision and launched himself forwards, through Tony and out of the lorry. He came down the ramp in that same leap, four feet forwards like a cat, Clint falling out of the way to avoid being squished. 

Tony swore again, lifting himself to his feet in time to see the bay paint bolt into the distance, rope flapping at his side. 

“Well at least he can jump.” Clint offered wryly as he stood again too, patting Iron’s neck to reward him for barely budging. “Can you catch him again?”

“Nope.” Tony popped the final letters of the word as he shook his head. 

The blonde rider tilted his head to one side, contemplating the direction the horse had bolted in. “Nat’s out that way, she might have a go on Bitty, but you’ll never hear the end of it. Steve’s somewhere near here as well, he will undoubtedly help out.”  
Tony found himself shrugging and then shaking his head. That was a can of worms he didn’t need opening again. “Let’s just get Iron to his box, then I’ve probably got a cold beer with your name on it.”

And if that didn’t make Clint’s face light up with happiness… 

 

* * *

 

After a long cold beer, which turned into a few slices of pizza and more beers, there was a harsh rap at the door of Tony’s lorry. Excusing himself from his guests (who had revealed themselves to be a sickeningly sweet couple) he opened up the door to find himself face to face with another of the riders.  
Steve.

The muscular blonde squared his jaw, refusing to meet his eyes. That wasn’t that much of a surprise though. “Stark.” He finally broke the silence, voice steeled as he thrust forwards a rope.

Tony vaguely noted that he was holding onto Butterfingers, the young horse lathered up in drying sweat as he stood there sheepishly. “Thanks.” He rushed out, stepping down to take the colt. 

“Welcome.” Steve replied quietly, turning away as soon as he had a decent hold. He took a few steps away before turning back to them and continuing. “I presume he’s…?”  
Tony found himself nodding as he rubbed the crusty sweat off his horse’s neck. “Yeah. Butterfingers.”

The tension seemed to drain out of Steve’s shoulders and he slowly nodding back to him before shooting a small smile. “He seems… Nice. A good mover at least. Just like Commando.”

With that, Steve turned away again and vanished up into his own lorry, leaving Tony stood there with the five year old nuzzling into his pockets for treats. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to promise that this whole story will stay pleasant. I can almost guarantee that there will at some point or another be mentions of serious injuries, animal cruelty and the on and off screen deaths of animals and characters.   
> These things go hand in hand with the sport I am writing about, sad as it is. I will however be warning if these are present in a chapter or a part of a chapter and shall endeavour to make it so that they can be skipped over without too much storytelling actually being lost if people are likely to be affected by them. 
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter, we will be seeing how riders school (train) their horses for such events as this.


End file.
